These sad rooms are sitting with me The seeds are scraps of paper For me the writing is nearly over Long tall shapeless the words be.
The skeleton rooms are growing dim I sit through the calm Whilst raging within My sweaty palms Are guiding me in I’m wanting the eyes forever
For long is the night dim is the day Like forgetting the only rhyme I had For you are the smile I’m not so gay You have a wooden life – not sad.
These rooms are sitting in calmness now My empty eyes are not glowing But please give me one last chance. As I sit within my knowing.
I can’t sit I have to move For the world is crazy without I need the anchor I need the wind But don’t ever let me out I see your skirts I am your blouse I want to get into your mind Don’t let me drift don’t let me dream Because I don’t want to be a friend.
The sun it drifts and the sky is mixed My mind expands with a whim You are in the midday of life And I can’t seem to ever win
Don’t smile, don’t cry, don’t even breathe For I am driving into the wind The hills are steep and I won’t keep Because the light is keeping me still Don’t cry, don’t speak For God’s sake don’t keep My ears are bursting again.
The sky is mean but the sun is clear I shan’t drift into you with a cloud I am the river the rain the speed So why don’t we write a rhythm I am so slow, slither I am on the go So please give a – come now! Go now! Please listen to me Come in come thither Please listen in Tune in to me is my hearing that keen The moon is dancing with us now.
Your voice your eyes Are in my device I want to keep them forever Please let me skate Please be my mate We shall sing the song together We shall sing the song together
Dull day, watching as a newspaper sails away Blending splendidly with McDonalds' cartons Coca Cola metal edged and ugly - Thought s of a new day Very much the same as yesterday Lying here next door to Primark My caps water logged virtually penniless Matching my pockets frugality Searing the unfathomed reality - Where thousands walk past.
What they see is a pile of rags and inertia Some cursing “ we’re not in bloody Asia” Soaked Big Issues don’t bring in the dosh Not do prostrate grey heaps Lining the Strand or Charing Cross. Blue coated lighted the boys with batons Use your legs for football practice “move on you bastard, or you’ll get more” “It’s the sailors life for me!”
The joke’s not lost like earrings in the hay Nights are always worse than days Junkies knifing your veins for pennies Prostitutes complaining about trade failures Blaming the begging not their aging layers It’s not only the cold that claims The street dwellers in this city It’s the absence of guilt and pity The liars of the Media affect your livelihood As sure as someone mugging your food The stories of violence leave out the frenzy Of organised scapegoating Blaming the poverty stricken With anything from litter to the Footsie collapsing.
Well meaning professional cannibals Hand you their insincerities And wait for you to smile your promises So they can keep the score’s accurate Then report you to the police Telling of drunkenness because you are a vagrant Wandering half the night for a vacant Doorway facing away from the wind Piles of grey rags and snoring.
Known as the “beggars welcome” Staggering into Mothercare’s entrance? Smiling at the irony, with a wince That triggers the aching gut rush Empty organs are painful most of the time Cups of tea sandwiches crusts or bones Forever missing off my menu.
Duller day, much the same as yesterday Only it appears to be longer It is much redder than before Due to crack heads wielding blades I’m becoming slimmer by the minute By the time an ambulance is alerted I will have become significant at last Statistically speaking anyway.
It never rains in my garden, the ground is parched, flowers drooped I spy the rain clouds but they pass me by again, I am stooped Over this gardening fork wondering why the water does not come Is there a shortage of liquid where I go, why do I become dumb With uncertainty about the rains that refuse to soak my skin. There is a conspiracy amongst the clouds in my regard I think.
Rain rain upon my solid unyielding ground where I stand Let me feel the pitter patter of rain drops on my dry hands, I want to look to the heavens and feel the water on my face I am desperate to experience the watery waves in this space. Let the storms of indifference go their own way, away away, Why should I really care about where they end up one day.
It never rains in my house even when all the windows are open I send personal messages to the darkening skies hoping then They will release the prize I am so keen to have all around me Their reply disappoints for they say there is a delay, I must see That it’s important for the rains to soak the more deserving, I am not counted in that number, this I have been observing.
Rain rain I beseech you train your dripping and cascading Unique cargo upon my eyes, my ears, my mind, ranging Down upon the months where rain was never going to be, I wanted to be soaked in the kindness of the waterfall, see It was my desire, it was my inspiration it is my reality, I can’t change the weather, I am now without water really.
It never rains upon the page I use to write my poetry, I am relieved that it spares me the task of drying leaves Of paper, and saves the ink from smudging, being unclear And creating patterns that laugh loudly into my inner ear, Rain rain why can’t you comfort my wild and edgy mind Why can’t I have dampness that rain always leaves behind?
I am in this café looking out towards the cars listening, To the rain as it pats the windowpane and glistening In the light of the streetlamps standing sentinel pose, The rhythm of the rain interposing thoughts I suppose. There is no control over the places the rain will fall But at least I have something to listen to after all.
I am in this living room in silence but listening always, There is only my heartbeat I notice pounding away As the quiet cuts decidedly across my concentration There are brief clatters as my keyboard is a distraction But I am not worried my thoughts are in need of renewal, As I discover past mind pictures in places I can recall.
I am in this wooded area and while listening the air is cool, The birds are all of a chatter and sing their songs in tall Trees that sway to the winds that disturb their very leaves, I love the rustling of the leaves and the fresh air I breathe, In this place increasingly I sense I’m becoming more real Listening can be a tonic but within me the sounds will still.
I am in this holiday place where gulls cry out to no one, But they sail on passed me in a cocky way; are you done They scream as I lay listening in the warm afternoon sun, The sea in the distance beckons me to join in the throng I expect nothing more than to hear my best ever song That echoes around inside my head all the day long.
I am on this doorstep listening to the people on the inside Trapped I am wondering whether the door bell on the outside Will scream obscenities to all within beyond this door, What matter is it to me if they hear the truth and much more What do I care, they do deserve an earful of fuck and bloody I rang the bell and moved away not speaking until I’m ready.
I am in this bed listening to the clock mocking my sleepy eyes I can’t sleep, as usual, the whirring of my brain I now realise Doesn’t want me to put head to pillow and get down to sleeping No it wants me at its mercy it repeats over a phrase I’m keeping, Hidden away inside my heart where I wait for its completion. It’s been a long long time, I am aware of its possible depletion.
I am on a carousel most people would call life and listening To what they say about it only makes me feel like disappearing, So I can gather evidence of an energy to discover the feeling Down inside of me that I have lost something of true meaning I see pictures of lakes, ducks dragon flies, geese and cranes, In the sunlight I spy a shadow that needs to be in light again.
DISSENTERS VOICE 